


The Beads of a Rosary

by Alielea



Category: Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Canonical Character Death, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Not Beta Read, References to Religion, Religion, The Author Regrets Nothing, Unconsciousness, references to death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:49:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27602360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alielea/pseuds/Alielea
Summary: The rosary had been his mother’s.In what few memories Mihael had of his mother, she’s always worn the rosary, clutching onto its beads when stressed by factors that had long since faded from Mihael’s memory.He didn’t quite remember how he had acquired it.His rosary only left his side in the wake of the explosion.
Relationships: Matt | Mail Jeevas & Mello | Mihael Keehl, Matt | Mail Jeevas/Mello | Mihael Keehl
Comments: 1
Kudos: 19





	The Beads of a Rosary

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just about to fall asleep at my desk writing that last paragraph. Have fun.

The rosary had been his mother’s. 

In what few memories Mihael had of his mother, she’s always worn the rosary, clutching onto its beads when stressed by factors that had long since faded from Mihael’s memory. 

He didn’t quite remember how he had acquired it. 

He’d worn it throughout his father’s trial, small fingers fiddling with the wooden red cross that hung past his chest, his father’s cold eyes never once meeting his. Watari had sat with him the first day, he’d been alone from then on, until Roger had joined him in the final days of the trial. 

Twisting the beads in his fingers had a near therapeutic trait to it. 

Even after he had abandoned what remained of his life in the wake of L’s death at Whammy’s, his rosary went with him. 

His rosary only left his side in the wake of the explosion. 

Mihael never felt it fall from around his neck, however, in a situation where time was of the essence, he didn’t have enough time to ensure that the rosary was secured before he staggered away to the safety net he had in Matt in whatever seedy motel he’d established himself in. 

He’d never gotten the chance to ask Matt about it- barely having time to lock eyes with him before he’d collapsed into waiting arms, skin blistered and burning. He felt like his entire side was on fire, the burn readily spreading through the rest of his body as he was wrestled inside the motel. 

Waking up, he felt too hot. His body was burning and Mihael felt as if he was suffocating. Drawing in a breath was agony, barely managing shallow, fast breaths. His hands flew in panic. 

He was dying. He was sure of it. 

The searing pain that ripped through the very fabric of his body. 

A ragged, painful sob ripped past his throat. 

Had this been L’s final moment? So unbearably hot, unable to draw in a breath without feeling the agonizing burn pressing down on his throat as if he were being strangled by too warm fingertips. As if a god himself were squeezing his throat. 

Or maybe this was hell. 

He didn’t have time to dwell on the subject before he’d had too warm hands on him.

However, the hands… rather than further suffocating him, quelled the panic that tore at his chest. The hand that had been blindly reaching for something, anything, fell limp, brushing across skin that wasn’t his own. 

The frantic hyperventilation died down to soft, heavy pants.

This was too merciful for Kira. 

The next time he gains a semblance of consciousness, he isn’t burning up. Heat still rolls through his body, of course. However, it isn’t as sharp and isn't as painful as it previously was. Beads of sweat still run down his neck, and he’s suddenly aware of the bedsheets sticking to his back. He’s so hot he feels cold.

He’s able to open his eyes this time, vision muddy and too blurred to properly make anything out. He’s sure he’s staring at the ceiling, however, as something is moving in a circular motion above him. He can’t keep his eyes open long before they’re being pulled back shut.

His breathing is still reduced to ragged pants. 

The hands are still there. However, now it’s just one, calloused fingertips pressed to his cheek. Mihael turns his head into the touch for a moment. 

Someone’s speaking to him, however, the words wash over him, unable to make out either the syllables or the direct words. He isn’t sure what’s being said. However, something’s being pressed into his hand. 

Something cold. 

And wet. 

Oh.

Water. 

The hands moved, now holding the back of his head, holding his head up.

His pride wants to lift his head to show whoever is caring for him that he can do it on his own. However, Mihael was taught well enough to know his own limits. 

Clearly, the person knows of his pride though. It must be Matt- Of course, it’s Matt, he’d come to Matt. Matt lets him grip onto the waterbottle. 

He drinks the water as if he’s never drank water before. Some of the water splashes down the corners of his mouth as he drinks, dripping down his chin before Matt’s hand is pushing the bottle down a little bit, prompting him to breathe deeply before allowing him to drink more. 

He doesn’t remember if he finishes the water bottle or not.

He swims back into consciousness a few times. None are very memorable. 

The final time he wakes, a panic seizes him for a moment simply because he can’t see. However, the panic quickly subsides as his good hand goes up to press his fingertips to the bandages on his eyes. 

Mihael dares to struggle to his feet, his burned arm serging to grip onto the bedpost, only for a wave of heat to race up his arm, making him gasp and stagger back- knees hitting the bed frame and falling back onto the mattress. 

Humiliatingly enough, the noise seems to draw Matt’s attention, footsteps quickly approaching. His cheeks burn in embarrassment as Matt steps through the doorway. 

Matt smiles that stupid crooked grin and Mello feels like he’s burning all over again. “Hey, tough guy,” He greets, walking to the bed. He grabs something from the bedside table that Mihael doesn’t see, making his eyes nervously dart to his hands as Matt joins him on the bed. “Notice anything missing?”

Mihael’s eyes glance down before looking up at Matt again, narrowing his eyes a little. Matt’s eyes dart down to his chest and Mihael follows his eyes down to his bare chest, bandages crossing over his left side. 

It hits him like he’s been submerged in ice water.

“...My rosary,” He gets the words out, voice raw. The words hurt coming up.

Matt nods, almost proud of himself. Had the shock not numbed him quite so much, he’d punch that smug grin off his face. 

Matt leans over a little. His hands are resting on his lap, one balled in a fist. “You know, you gotta be a pretty special guy for me to commit crimes for,” He started. Mihael wanted to interrupt him. Does taking care of someone showing up on your stood half-dead really count as a crime? “Gotta be a really special guy for me to go rooting around a federal crime scene for.” 

The last statement catches him off guard, brow furrowing a little and he raises his eyes to meet Matt’s blue ones. 

Matt holds out his hand and presents the long beaded necklace, red beads glinting in the afternoon’s low sun, some beads discolored a little, the point where the chain meets no longer a picture of the virgin mary, rather replaced with a simple silver plate- his M written on the front. The crucifix is discolored on one of the arms of the cross- a metallic red rather than the wooden red he’d always known. 

“You-”

“It was fucked up pretty bad on its left side. Lost a lot of beads and that little arm on the cross got burned pretty bad. I, ah, tried to match the beads and the crosses as closely as I could but I figured I’d wait for the expert himself to see and approve before I pat myself on the back.” As he talks, Matt spreads the beads on his hands, moving his arms over Mihael’s head to drape the pieced together rosary around his neck- careful to lay it gently against his bandages. His fingers trace down to gently twirl the crucifix around properly.

Mihael’s at a loss for words as he stares down at it. His lips tighten, pursing for a moment before he relaxes. He swallows hard. 

“It’s perfect,” He speaks finally, voice softened in a way that he would blame on the burns if ever asked about the meekness reflected in his voice. “Wouldn’t even notice…”

Matt’s smile only grows as he moves to grab onto Mihael’s good hand, lacing their fingers together, warm thumb rubbing soothingly over his knuckles. 

He feels relief once the rosary is settled against his skin, head tipped down, refusing to meet Matt’s eyes even as the man gets up from where he sat on the bed, letting his hand go as a result, speaking of changing his bandages again. Mihael moves his hand to trace over the cross, tracing his finger over the cold metal of the new beads and over the broken arm of the cross. 

He keeps his rosary around his neck until he dies.

**Author's Note:**

> Instagram: @Bit.bugg  
> Comments are appreciated <3


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